Full circle

Field school is officially over and a few of us are sitting here drinking coffee, rubbing bloodshot eyes, and reminding each other of who's leaving when and flying into where. I really do feel like my experience has come full circle from my own starting points: I've seen a lot of poverty and filth, and some real opulence, too. I've seen kids on the streets and those same kids taken into safe homes and schools. I've been charmed and kind and smiley to the beach vendors and evolved to a much more effective and wise nah! with a swift sweep of the hand that apparently says no + enough in any culture. The traffic no longer freaks me out too much, they know what they're doing, and I no longer whip out my camera every time I see a cow or elephant or camel in the street. I was afraid of the food, afraid of getting sick, and learned that even though yes, one should be careful, that fear is mostly perception based. I ate at a restaurant where our large table had to be accommodated in the parking lot with the cows, and it was the best meal I've had. Admittedly I was a little tender the next day, but definitely not sick. Indian spices make me tender at home, too. I could go on and on but the point is this: a month is long enough to face your fears and begin even in the slightest way to gain a more full understanding, a more balanced perspective.

But most of those are really quite trivial comments and experiences. My REAL full circle experience was the kids. On Tuesday we went to visit an organization called El Shaddai, which is Hebrew for protector and loving provider. If I had not first cast my gaze on the kids on the streets I would not have been able to truly appreciate what El Shaddai is doing. The same kids I saw running around naked in a slums, playing in garbage piles, begging on the streets and being exploited, are the same kids El Shaddai actively seeks out. They either encourage the parents to bring their children into day care or school and provide support for a loving but terribly struggling family.  Many families migrate from a village and end up in the slums as they try to find seasonal work. If a child is abandoned or abused, they are rescued and brought to live in one of El Shaddai's full care homes forever--El Shaddai is where they will grow up, learn, and be loved their entire childhood, and when they reach early adulthood they're provided independent cottages. El Shaddai supports and teaches healthy values and boundaries, but does not teach them to believe in Christian faith or not to do anything such as drink and smoke, etc. The children are free to learn, grow, and choose their own path. El Shaddai has office staff and organizational managers, volunteer coordinators and hundreds of volunteers, field workers going into the slums and streets everyday to support or rescue, daycare and nursery school teachers, doctors and healthcare workers, vocational trainers, librarians--they are everything from A to Z.

But let me start at the beginning. We left the hotel at 9am on Tuesday and went to their office, school, and vocational training school in Assagao. First we met some leaders and volunteers, and learned about who El Shaddai is, and next we had the incredible opportunity to be shown around the large school by the very first child El Shaddai rescued, Ravi. He's now 20 and works full-time for El Shaddai, and his love for the children is obviously so rich and full--he truly knows. At one point he lovingly grabbed a little guy of about five wandering by and hugged him close, protectively covering his little chest with both hands. The little boy had just arrived at El Shaddai one month ago, rescued from a slum, and lives fulltime in one of the boy's homes. We heard another story of a 9 month old boy rescued a year previous. His mother had died and he was completely alone, eating mud. He was taken immediately into medical care and a year later is healthy and growing, and will be with El Shaddai for his entire childhood. Formed in 1997 they've helped millions of children, and currently have approximately 3500 Indian children in their care--a drop in the bucket, really, but significant.

Next we drove to a town called Margao, to a daycare unit and night shelter called Stepping Stones. These children live with their families in a slum, but spend their daytime learning nursery songs, maybe watching cartoons, learning either Hindi or English numbers and alphabet, and playing in the small playground. The children range in age from 3 to about 12, and a very small group of Stepping Stones' kids spend the night when their situation is too precarious to return home. The little ones were so affectionate and playful, and curious about these strange zippers and buttons on our purses and bags, varying shades of toenail polish (poke, poke, is it a real toe?), and cameras--cameras! Endless fun. So many of the young ones loved to be held, and one little girl curled herself into my shoulder and I rocked and squeezed her for probably 20 minutes until she'd had her fill. Another one stared up into my face, so different looking to her, and kept both her little hands wrapped around my forearm until again, in that childlike way, she'd had enough and squirmed her way down to run off to play.

I'm sitting in the coffee shop now, with a warm breeze blowing in the open doors. I can hear Phillip laughing and visiting--he's SO happy to be going home--and others are quietly typing away like I am and saying last goodbyes. Mark has to checkout of his room at 12 but I'm good till 2, so I hand him my key so he can move his luggage into my room. Tonya and Anika and I will move into a triple occupancy today, the last stragglers to hang out by the pool until Monday. I might go into Baga Beach today to buy a couple more of these fantastic skirts (for a whopping $8 each), we might rent scooters, or I might just float in the pool.

Just float...that's probably a good metaphor for coping on a first visit to India. Step back, remember to ask why, listen and learn, and just float.

www.childrescue.net

It's just business...

Today, Sat the 23rd, I went down to Anjuna beach, home of Goa trance.  I wanted to see it in the daytime first, not at night when a sea of bodies covers the beach, bodies moving to undanceable trance rhythms (I've later learned that those parties don't happen this time of year anyway; the time to see or join them is December).  Plus when or if I go back at night surrounded by said bodies high on who knows what I'd rather be a bit more orientated to my surroundings, which are beautiful.  Actually the beach is beautiful as long as you keep your gaze in that direction.  The rest is a bit of shit hole.  The bar restaurants are a mix of super shabby to tacky and bright.  We ate somewhere in the middle at Cafe Lilliput.  All the restaurants have the tables staggered on ledges up the hilltop, so everyone has a fab view of the ocean, beach, and flesh thereon.  The various steps going up to the bars are weather-worn and garbage strewn, one notable pile of garbage containing a mix of flip flops, plastic bits of something, sandals, cloth, and glass bottles of what was some hard liquor.  Anjuna beach definitely has the "I'm checked out and travelling" vibe you'd expect, and the fashion, which primarily is tie-dyed skirt wet with saltwater at the bottom, jingle anklets, long stringy hair, and a very heavy backpack.  Later, when we were ready to leave, we happened upon a sculptor and chatted a bit.  "First time to Goa?" Yep we reply.  "Yeah you look it..."  That cracks me up because it's very true.

The women on the beach were driving me crazy.  And I don't mean the goofy white chicks taking "sexy" pictures of each other in the surf, to the delight of Indian male onlookers.   That was just damn funny.  I mean the jewellery merchants.  I'm tired today, very, and I just wasn't much in the mood for it.  Talk to one and you'll have 6 or 8 literally surrounding you.  "We don't have as much money as you think...I can't buy from all of you" I say, to which they only reply "yes you money, you have you have.  what you want?  I give you good deal.  tell me your price we start there. [Ok fine.  you name a price.]  Are you kidding me?  Are you trying to kill me?  Ok I say my price then you say and then I say.  My price is 1200 rupees.  Now you say." And while this conversation is going on with one another is fixing an anklet on you and another a bracelet.  Oh my god--are you trying to kill ME?!  I need a taxi back to my hotel I say, laughing, nor do I actually have anywhere near that many rupees in my purse, but that falls on deaf ears and the whole what you want name your price bit starts again for the 50th time.  They also use this interesting "ok you come back tomorrow and give me rest" schtick which we couldn't quite figure out.  Surely they know I'm not actually going to come back and pay them?  What's the deal?  I bought two jingle anklets for 300 rupees (original starting point 1200, down to 500) and I owe her 200 which I'm supposed to pay tomorrow.  As if.  Why do they do this?  Anika figures that with all the backpackers living on the beach maybe many do actually come back and pay the next day.  Or is it that they are trying to guilt you a bit?  That you're ripping them off if you don't pay the full amount right at the moment and especially since they're doing you a favor by  cutting you a one day loan?  I'm not sure, really, but they all do it.

On the way to the beach we walked by two women working by the side of the road, seemingly building something, and they explained to us that they were cooking rocks.  No not cooking she corrects herself, and finally we understand that they are heating rocks to form bricks.  She and her mother are building her shop; she's a jeweller.  After some pleasant exchange we get to the point:  come see my jewellery.  The convo as described begins and when I say 250 rupees for both anklets I get oh my god are you kidding me?  Ok I say my price.  After conferring with her mother she names it:  7000 rupees, very good silver and I build my shop; you know I need shop.  I burst out laughing; that's close to 200 CAD for inexpensive silver.  Not that I'm unsupportive

When we were back up on the roads, walking away from Anjuna, I commented to Jackie that you know, we do they same thing in corporate business but here's it's just so in your face and super raw.  We build rapport, loyalty, offer special deals and sales, we extend loans, and we build relationships with our clients.  In their way these women are doing the exact same thing, it's just a lot less smooth.  One can't fault them for it, and I don't, but I did make an escape up some restaurant steps because the women aren't allowed in the restaurants.  This worked, they left and headed down the beach, but I got some snobby looks from some white flesh splayed on lounge chairs.  For what; standing there?  Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm not cool enough for Anjuna...and how much did you drop on jewellery today from the safety of your lounge chair?  I wonder silently.

Interestingly, no kids were begging anywhere.  On the way out we pass a bus that says, "El Shaddai Child Resuce" on the side, with a group of little ones playing nearby.  "Hey I know of these guys," I say to Jackie. "This is one of the voluntourism companies Rohan has been talking to." Two men are working and they smile at us, but even though my project is on the kids they're helping I don't find the energy to strike a convo.  It's getting late, we need a taxi, and Tuesday is voluntourism day with either them or another organization helping homeless kids.  That'll be the day to find out more about El Shaddai.  Right now I need a nap.  And a taxi.  Where the heck are the taxis...!

Did I mention I love my anklets?  They're very pretty and sexy, and they do indeed jingle.  Buying them was  a little traumatizing but the jingle will remind me of that experience on Anjuna beach.  And when I wear them at home, fully rested, away from the women's overwhelming insistence and borderline harassment, I'll smile at the sound of both my anklets and the verbal jingle jingle jingle it took to get them.

Magical morning

Sunday 17th / Wed 20th

On Sunday morning my team had the opportunity to tag along with one of our classmates while she did some filming for her thesis project. We left the hotel at 7am and had a completely magical morning watching happy painted elephants have breakfast, enjoy their baths, and be led back to their open enclosure by exotic men with ashed faces and white drape-y loin cloths. We also spent time outside a Hindu temple watching worshippers leave their offerings, and then we sat and interviewed one young film producer, Ayush, from our chosen NGO, drishtimedia.org. All this before 9am! But the best part, the most magical for me, was outside the temple...kids, lots and lots of kids...

In my experience kids love watching themselves on camera video. My nephew loves it when I take video of him doing his performance, we watch it, and then of course I have to take another one immediately. When one of my nieces was only 2, she figured out all by herself how to replay and replay and replay a video of herself on my camera. The kids in the market were no different. When we arrived some women with babies approached us and a couple of teenage girls, but I hadn't seen any young kids. I was taking video of the offering altar outside the temple when I felt the now familiar tug of the teenage girl who'd been following me. I panned her into frame, and then her slightly younger friend wanted some airtime, but they both lost out to the little face who pushed them out of the way and smiled up into my lens. I'm guessing he's about 7, and just like my nephew he hammed it up and then I stopped the video and showed it to him and the group now surrounding me. Laughing their heads off and pointing, this little guy then wanted another video, of just him, then another, and another of him sliding across the stone tiles, until the man with the stick showed up. I didn't see this man because my back was turned, but Anika told me about him afterward, that this man came with a stick to shoo them all away from me. I wondered why they had all took off so suddenly, and why my little friend had suddenly stopped himself mid-slide and hid behind a gate. I have it on video, including the part when he meant to come back, but the man must still have been behind me as he scooted behind the gate again, tucked completely out of sight since the gate was as tall as he is.

This group of kids showed perfectly how they compete for our (a tourist's) attention, and while I realize the little fella was hamming it up for the camera, not me, his gregarious personality captured my attention--and my rupees--while the quieter ones stood by me and became fellow spectator. It's impossible to pay attention to everything your senses are trying to take in here: the smells, sights, sounds, crazy traffic, and unfamiliar goings on, such as these intense and insistent requests for money and attention. Some of the adult women can be quite aggressive, too, grabbing your arm and not letting go until you pull it away. This grabbing hasn't happened to me yet, other than being poked in the arm through a cab window, but my friends have experienced it and I've seen it, too. I guess it's like anything else: whatever is loudest and most disruptive holds your attention the most easily, whether it's a speeding rickshaw or an outgoing little kid. I quickly squished a wadded up 100 rupees (about 2 dollars) into his little hand when he and smiled to myself as, on cue, he vanished. I did this quickly and discreetly so the man with the stick wouldn't see, and before all the other kids came back, too. I find I'm making these decisions to give or not give and to whom and how much in the blink of an eye; all is happening so fast and you just do it or don't. It's a gut thing. Ayush assured us these kids were just working us, they have food and parents who likely run a shop in this area. Regardless, I liked these kids and we had some fun. I gave the little performer something in return for the laughs and insights, and I couldn't do the same for all of them. Knowing that they're fed and OK helped, and I didn't mind being worked over for awhile because for just a few minutes I was the girl with the video camera and they were the kids. And after Ayush had let us know they were fine, I even turned into a bit of a smartass with one of the older girls and started mimicking back to her that eating hand gesture. She'd do it then I would, then I'd speed up and so would she, and whoever lost the rhythm first lost the game and we both laughed. It felt normal, a lot more normal and real than "tourist and street kid."

Right now I'm in the plane for Goa. We're all ready for beaches, a more relaxed schedule, the pool, and the spa. Haley and Krysta are heading straight to the spa for bikini waxes, and AnikaDrishti is a Hindi word which means viewpoint, the power of sight. Drishti's youth initiative, Nazariya, means perspective. Viewpoint; sight; and perspective: mine have been a moving target as I've made my way through Mumbai and Ahmedabad, and whatever viewpoint one has coming in, it won't be the same going home. And Goa will be another one entirely.

Travelling with a group of 30 has begun to take it's toll after 10 plus days, bringing insecurities and weak points to the surface in all of us--leaders included. We're getting along just fine but at this point we're sticking pretty close with our friends to conserve energy. In class the other day we were talking about the personal financial realities of working for an NGO, and Wendy shared that at one point in her career being paid was a bit of joke among some co-workers. They were paid a small salary from their employer, so while they were nearly as "poor" as the communities they were working with they didn't have the insecurity, so the feigned assumed poverty was the punchline. The insecurity of not knowing where you next meal is coming from, of having no sense of the future or even tomorrow because all that matters is trying to make it through today, that's real insecurity, and it's where I plan to keep my focus as a student here. Right now we probably all need to take a good long breath from our own oxygen mask before we can be of any use to anyone else. We have a neutral travel day today, and we're also leaving the dry state of Gujarat which means drinks!, heading to nude beaches, and trance parties, spice tours and cooking classes. What an opposite "drishti"or "nazariya" from Ahmedabad, from ultimate conservativeness to ultimate hedonism. Like my Indian seat mate on the plane said, "Ahmedabad is art, history, culture, but Goa? Goa is party time!"

As I finish this up I'm now in my hotel room which is just lovely, overlooking the pool. We've ventured into town, picked up some happy juice, and dipped our feet in the ocean. There are bed bugs though, and I've drenched my bed in deet spray. I'm not going to sweat it too much though because for one, I'm exhausted, and for two, I'm sleeping inside, with air conditioning, on a bed, in a 5 star hotel, with a pool, a flat screen TV, and a wad of rupees in my wallet. I think I can muster up the courage to face a bed bug, and if I can't, I'll be really disappointed in myself.

(P.S.  It's the next day and the deet worked like a charm!)

Mind-boggling numbers

Fri 15th / Sat 16th

In class the other morning we were discussing what being an agent for social change means, what it shouldn't mean, who should assume that title, who shouldn't, etc. etc. I had commented that where a Western presence is creating or has created issues, do we (Westerners / tourists) not have a responsibility to strive for social change, as "agents" within our own culture, to educate our own culture on what we're contributing to in another locality? I was thinking particularly of begging businesses targeted at tourists, and of the beach parties in Goa, and how that has isolated and impacted local communities. Later that day at Gujarat University I was walking with my classmate, Andrew, and he mentioned that he had a different perspective on what I was saying. He hesitated at first and I encouraged him to let it rip; tell me what you think straight up. It led to an interesting walking chat that's stuck with me ever since.

Population. The sheer scale of it compared to home. We really and truly can't get out head around it, and what it means to Indian society. What Andrew shared was that while he understood what I was getting at with regards to begging, he doesn't think our presence here has created a situation that didn't exist previously, or that us leaving (i.e., no tourists) would change anything. His perspective is that the poverty here is directly linked to the size of the population, a number we can barely get our head around, and that begging always existed but our presence makes for an easier go of it, a logical place to start, and in many areas some strategies have been developed to make it even more fruitful. If tourists weren't here the beggars would simply beg elsewhere, he said. And further, take a poor area in Toronto. Generally the difficulties are behind closed doors; urban poverty is pretty concealed from our day-to-day gaze. But, take the population of that Toronto area and times it by 1000--it would spill out onto the street, guaranteed. That's India, he said. The sheer number of people increases the intensity of it all; there's more people than they can care for, and the issues are intensely complicated by the numbers of people. I hadn't thought of it quite that succinctly before; he's so right. Think of any scenario you can dream up. Most everything is manageable in small amounts. But increase it a 100 fold and it's overwhelming, daunting, and depending, downright frightening. We can't understand the social issues on this scale. In Mumbai, the Dharavi slum is the entire population of Calgary crammed into 1/8 the space! Mind-boggling is an understatement. And India itself is 1/3 the size of Canada x FORTY the population!!

I've had CNN on everyday, both to feel connected to the rest of the world, like the rescue of the Chilean miners, and because it's entirely in English. CNN has been advertising their series Ancient Cities constantly, especially Cairo, and it got me thinking. Cairo is described as chaotic and crammed--like Mumbai and Delhi? I'm in an ancient city right now; apparently Ahmedabad was established in 1411. I wonder, why does it seem that the oldest cities are so "chaotic" and what we call 3rd world conditions? The cramming I understand; people have been living here forever so that means a LOT of people. But shouldn't that mean they have city living figured out? Why, according to CNN, is the ancient city of Cairo a "future city"? A city that is still growing and figuring out how to manage all its citizens? How is that possible? They've had a cajillion years to figure it out haven't they? Makes my sore spots with Calgary's light rail system kind of cute, like a little child complaining that they have so many responsibilities or something.

The other morning I turned on CNN just in time to catch a very interesting story. CNN is also running a series on Heroes (perhaps you've seen this; not sure if the programming is different here), and I caught a segment on an Indian chef of some notoriety who gave it all up to prepare meals for the homeless. He shared that the poverty in India is so huge that some people just get completely forgotten about. One day from his car window he saw an elderly man eating his own excrement, and that sight broke his heart. Right then he said he made a decision to try to help, and now he delivers hot meals and bottles of water to these forgotten souls. In one scene he was even tenderly spoon-feeding an old man. Again I am struck by the intensity of this story, of elderly people living on the street. But, are there elderly this forgotten in my own city, reduced to this level of barely surviving and I just don't see it because it hasn't spilled into the street? I don't know; I kind of think not. But...well I just don't know. I simply can't imagine it, that we don't have systems in place to catch our own before they get to this point. BUT...we are dealing on a much smaller scale, and even as I write this I hear a voice in my head saying but so what, India has a responsibility to care for its own. Population can't be an excuse, can it? Is it an excuse or an explanation?

Phillip mentioned to me that misery is a construction. I kind of get it--perceptions shape constructions of how we define everything. I think. I have to mull that. Maybe it's too deep for me, too philosophical. More than once I have thought that coming to sit idly and meditate in an ashram in a country where old people are eating their own shit and little babies sit in piles of garbage seems kind of ridiculous. Seems like pretty concrete misery to me. I made a comment to prof Wendy the other day that I'm having trouble seeing India as a spiritual mecca, a place where people journey to learn and attain spiritual enlightenment. "It's a myth," she replied. "And I happen to agree with you."

It is what is, these thoughts, and I am where I'm at. This is brutal and uncensored honesty...constructed from my own views based on where I've been and what I'm seeing and hearing. My construction, for what it's worth. Population or not, India is mind-boggling on multiple levels, and I fully admit to being confused by it. But it's so easy to judge, to point and draw a conclusion, wipe my hands of it and walk away, especially when I'm weary, thinking it's done--figured that out. So cowardly, really. And so much more challenging, respectful, and beneficial to sincerely ask why, about situations, attitudes, behaviors, and people we don't understand or rub us the wrong away. Why am I, are you, are they? What's the why behind the scenes? What are the sacred cows I hold dear which fuel my easy judgments? When Indians arrive as new Canadian immigrants (we saw a big poster advertising immigration to Canada in 12 months guaranteed), what is the why in an Indian's questions when they're on our home turf? And when they're weary, where and when do they find it easy to judge us?

I bounced some of these thoughts off Tina and she had a quick answer to where they think our f%&@-ed-up-ness resides: lack of community. It's very strange to have to make an appointment to see a friend, and be scheduled into a friend's life. In Indian culture if you are FRIENDS, you can see each other whenever you want; the door is always open. And that strong listening skills translates to becoming a close friend to a Westerner: "I can talk so easily to you; you are one of my closest friends" Huh? Many times I do not feel the same she said. Because I listen to you intently and with interest does not mean we're besties. "We always give our full attention," she said, "and the first time I experienced an interpersonal communications class in my studies I thought to myself, they need to be taught this?" We spoke a lot too about moral richness, the wealth of love, the importance of sharing and togetherness, that happiness is a perception, and really, don't we all long in our lives, whether rich or poor, and don't we all find our own ways of being happy? What makes the dude in his posh office doing lines better off than these poor communities? Westerners value cash, and we quickly associate poverty on monetary means only. The poverty is real, no one denies that, but she encouraged me to remember that for even the children, their existence is not entirely pitiful, and life goes on, like it does for all of us.

Clenched fists and swirling saris

My sleep pattern has taken on a convenient rhythm:  I'm going to bed early, when it's too late to be outside anyway, and getting up between 5 and 6, long before our day starts, giving me time to write.  At this time of day my mind is active but I'm still quiet inside; these early mornings are giving me the space to collect my reflections before another day unfolds.  I hope I can carry this home!

This morning as I lay in bed I was thinking of the group of kids I met yesterday. My pursed lips in the photo, my clenched fists.  My stiff body posture.  The whole issue of begging children is uncomfortable on so many levels.  I need to engage some but the modus operand is to ignore the begging children and shoo them away.  I can't ignore children or shoo them, nor will that make for a very useful research project.  I'm conscious of making those with me uncomfortable, of drawing them into a situation they don't want to be part of simply because they're with me.  France and I had an awkward moment in Mumbai.  A young girl of about 8 had smiled and waved at us, and to me she was the epitome of a gorgeous Indian girl: slight frame; huge eyes; long wavy hair; pierced nose; bright red and purple little salwar kameez; only the dirt and grime all over it gave away her social standing.  We were trying to find this store we'd been looking for so I started talking to her and asked her if she knew where it was.  Of course she did, she said, pointed a street on the other side of the traffic circle, and I offered her 10 rupees for her help (about twenty cents).  Off to the side France said out loud in a scornful tone, "Oh Kim...."  The little girl refused the money and wondered away, but quickly reappeared as we began to cross the street, my hunch telling me that someone told her to go back to us and ask for rice, which she was now insistently doing using the now familiar song and dance:  my mother (or I) needs it for the baby; I'm a beggar and can't go in to stores: there's a store right there you can go in; 50 rupees please, for rice, for rice, why no? why no?  I was completely at ease with this child; I trusted her. She said she'd take us to the store and I bent down and looked her in the eyes and asked gently, "are you telling the truth?" She said she was, and so we began to venture across the insane traffic circle to the other side, following the lead of a young girl as she confidently negotiated us through traffic and held her small hand up to stop the flow.

France is very mindful that begging is a business, and that the money doesn't go these kids.  She works in Children's Aid in Ottawa and so of course is very in tune with child abuse and exploitation.  I looked at her somewhat apologetically and as we began to cross the street I said to her, "I have to talk to the kids for my research.  I don't mean to make you angry but I kind of have to do my thing." As we teetered on the meridian waiting for the moment to make our final crossing to the street the store should be on, I told her I would pay her and then time to say goodbye.  She still insisted on rice and I said no but I will pay you.  As we got to the other side she finally resigned and said ok money.  I gave her 50 rupees and she took off, like they all do, which I find kind of cute.  As soon as money is in hand they're gone in a flash.  We wandered down the street a ways, looked down a side street just as we were becoming convinced we'd been had, and sure enough, there was the store.  I knew she was telling the truth I thought to myself, but having no way to know for certain we were both still pleasantly surprised.

After a lengthy shopping session in the upstairs room of this store, where we were shown table cloths, pashminas, table runners, and served delicious chai, France made her purchase and we made our way back to the street.  Not far away we round a bend in the market and there's our little girl lounging cross-legged on a small cloth with three other girls her age, playing a game I think.  She sees me first and I hear hi! hi! and I'm so pleased to see her smiley face looking up at me.  I thank her again, we share a long smile, and wave goodbye.  She doesn't follow us; is that because there is no authoritative adult with her at present to send her?  Or did she leave us be on purpose?

Back to the picture I was reflecting on.  In Ahmedabad, I'm out walking and looking in shops with Tonya and Anika, my closest friends in the program.  We hadn’t seen any children all day, but that changed when we wandered down a busier main road with the kind of shops that attract tourists.  We spotted two girls and boy on the meridian and, of course, they spotted us.  I’m not very good whatsoever at avoiding eye contact and what you’re “supposed to do” and immediately I have a little girl holding my hand, pressing herself up to me, imploring me with her big eyes for rupees. (Or did I grab her hand?  I think I did.) Tonya and Anika were walking up ahead and I thought let’s ask them for an exchange. I showed them my camera and then gestured at each of them that I would pay them.  Tonya took my camera, suggested I show them the money first, and took the picture.  When I see the picture later my feelings are written all over my body, head to toe. It’s like a no-win situation:  ignoring feels wrong, engaging feels wrong, paying a child feels wrong, everything about it feels wrong.  This is the first time I feel so uncomfortable and ill at ease.  I lean forward stiffly in a semi-embrace, my lips are pursed, and my fists are clenched.  The kids are hamming it up, and nearly rip the 10 rupee bills in half they grab for them so hard from my hand.  My strategy didn’t work though as they kept following us and after a brief reprieve (strategizing I think) one of the girls takes the little boy in hand and works me up again, the other little girl following a ways behind.  Obviously I can’t understand a thing she’s saying but going by tone and gesturing I’m guessing it was quite close to, “this is my little brother and we need more money because she (the other girl) took it all and now we don’t have annnyyyyyyyy...we need more...she took it alllllllll...” A man sees this and shoos them, with that hand gesture that looks like you’re going to strike but have no intention of doing so.  They take off.  I quickly apologize to Tonya and Anika and they quickly dismiss me saying no, we totally understand.  Later, walking down a side street, we see a little girl sent after us by an older woman.  She’s more timid, maybe less experienced.  Anika follows the lead of the man earlier:  hah! + hand gesture.  She takes off.  I laugh at Anika saying whoa, you’re tough, I just can’t do that.  “Yeah, well,” she says.  “It worked when he did it...” We are all trying to find and do what works for us here, whether it’s how we cope or how we have fun.

And speaking of fun, we were allowed to take part in the most amazing street dance festival last night, the 13th.  It is the 9 Days of Dancing right now, which is a celebration of one of the Hindu gods, who I learned is revered for killing a devil.  I watched that dancing, having not had time to go shopping for mid-riff baring apparel (fine with me!) for this enchanting evening.  I completely enjoyed being spectator and watching the colors, sparkle, swooshing, dipping, twirling, rushing by me, and the little girls coming up to MJ and I asking our names, and telling us we are so beauteeeful.  The children were unbearably cute in their outfits, and I think to myself, this is the other side; these are high caste children.  We were in a gated community with many guards allowing people in and out of the party.  It was a privilege to be there, and we were all blessed by a priest, again, and got a third eye dot.  It doesn’t bother me doing this, but a couple of the girls felt strange doing it since they don’t worship that god and it’s not their religious ceremony.  But I think locals realize their god is not my god and that I probably have no idea who the god is anyway and what’s really going on, but they like the participation and the respect, the intent to take part with them in something sacred.  One woman teasingly pointed at me to continue clapping because I had stopped, her eyes playfully winking at me.  I laughed and dutifully continued and at just the right rhythm in her clapping and swaying she gives me the “perfect” symbol with her fingers, and the other kind of head bobble, the quick one side nod.  It cracks me up and I love that I’m experiencing another side to what overwhelmed me in Mumbai.  Later a small baby is staring me down like I have two heads and the grandfather and I are both chuckling; she smiles a bit when I tickle her hand but mostly just can’t seem to figure out what I am.  At this street festival there is beauty, love, and real smiles, for nothing in return except for maybe a shy request for a photo with you, the white woman.

Leaving Mumbai

Yesterday I was sitting in the hotel cafe having my last coffee at the Courtyard Marriott.  I had a friendly chat with the server and he asked what I found the most different about Mumbai compared to my home.  "The garbage, I knew it!" he laughed.  And, the children and beggars on the street, I added.  We don't know how to handle it I said, and told him about the woman who followed us for five blocks yesterday, asking over and over for rice, and why no lady? Why no? Why no?

Intellectually we know begging is a business, but after awhile I start to wonder the same thing—why no? What if her baby really is hungry; what if she isn’t part of one of these businesses and is on her own, actually hungry? It wears you down and saying no feels incredibly uncomfortable and morally wrong when the 50 rupees she wants is less a dollar for me, and ignoring her goes against everything I’ve been taught about being polite; when someone is talking to you, give them your attention—especially, and always, a child.  Then, the annoyance and frustration that eventually comes after five blocks makes me feel like a complete ass.  I didn’t get into this much detail with my waiter friend obviously, but even at the mention of begging his countenance grew a little more somber and it seemed that even he struggled to explain it to me in any way that would make sense. Should I not have broached this topic?  Did I offend?  I don't think so, and it was an honest answer to an honest question.  I asked him where he lived, and he said very near to the hotel.  My experience of “very near to the hotel” was rather jarring, so I probed a little more.  Do you have an apartment?  No, he lives with his parents and his father is a chemist at the hospital nearby.  I can't get my head around these normal life scenes of friends, work, family, and daily routines against this bizarre, chaotic background of squalor, filth, and homelessness.  Nearer to the city center it was clearly a wealthier area, but that did not mean an absence of garbage and street families.  France and I were wondering in conversation one day, where’s the middle class? Do the super poor live amongst the super rich?  Is there a middle class?  What does my waiter friend’s family home look like?  He looks like any other handsome, stylish, bright-eyed 22 year old full of hope and dreams, with a cool watch and funky hair.  By description his family sounds middle class, but for the rest I am left to my curiosity.  I can’t imagine his home, as he can’t imagine mine.

France and I were talking last night, and we agreed that what is getting to us is the Indian’s apparent lack of care for their own.  We know there’s a lot we don’t understand, we hear the government is trying but there are just so many people, we hear that India has a full-on child social welfare system.  We know this.  But knowing by general report is not seeing and feeling.  On the surface, it appears like complete disregard for social order, environmental health and safety, and like I said in my proposal, the absence of a moral responsibility to care for your society’s children.  In Canada we have safety nets in place to catch children at risk—social programs; hot lunch programs; etc.  Of course there are horrible situations behind closed doors, but this is different.  This is a naked baby sitting on the street, a toddler playing in the dirt of the gutter or garbage heap, a three year old coming into traffic to ask for rupees.  Ours is not a perfect system, of course, but it's not this; it's not even in the same ballpark.  This isn't even just poverty, like a simple life where possessions are few and life has a quiet rhythm.  This urban poverty reeks of desperation, abuse, and people driven to indecency like shitting in the river in plain view—and this was in the “nice” area, about 50 yards from the Gateway of India monument.  Children forced and reduced to humiliating themselves at a car window for less than a Canadian dollar.  This is not just poverty, this seems like something else, something well...evil.  At this moment I balk at the idea of India being a spiritual mega-destination.  I enjoyed the experience of being blessed by a Hindu priest and will not take off my bracelet, but like we wondered, real priest?  300 rupees is a pretty steep donation...and maybe a good way to fake out the tourists and make a killing.  I want to just believe he was a real priest and leave my memory in tact.

I am not sorry to be leaving Mumbai, and I have no wish to return.  Mumbai has been a first impression of chaos and contradictions, desperation and corruption, street posters for her holiness teaching from the sacred scriptures on a certain date and time, blowing in the wind above the very young face at the cab window pleading with me for some rupees.  And further down the road, a Porsche dealership. And in the middle of all this still, normal-ness, normal people living their lives, going about their work and studies, caring for and loving their children.  It’s the extremeness I can't understand.  I am judging, yes, but what could possibly be the rightness in this social chaos that I'm not understanding?  So much to understand about a country as old as India, with a billion people.  And my experience and impressions are only my own.  France shares them, but when talking with Krysta and Haley at the airport, waiting to fly to Ahmedabad, they had a completely opposite experience, an enchanting experience of meeting a young woman their age, going to her home, having their hands painted with henna, and dancing in a street festival.  They stayed clear of the tourist areas and didn’t experience any begging .  They simply can’t wait to come back to Mumbai.  Our times in Mumbai couldn’t have been more different, or their focus was elsewhere.  Could it be that I only saw what I was looking to see, and expecting to find?  I’m not sure, I expected poverty but until you see this you can’t imagine it.  To an extent I have to do direct my focus to the awfulness during my time here, my focus is the street children, but am I keeping my gaze too narrow, seeing only the sorrows and missing the rest?

Chapter Ahmedabad begins today.  I’m going to try and extend my gaze and leave these thoughts and feelings aside for now.  There is so much more...there has to be, and there definitely is.

A city within the city

Today we went to the Dharavi slum, which is the largest slum in Asia and the one featured in the movie Slumdog Millionaire. It's about 460 hectares, houses 1 million people, has been around for 150 years, and is nestled between two major railway routes. We didn't see those row "outhouses" shown at the beginning of the movie (thank goodness) but what we did see was a shock to the senses nonetheless (the 45 Minute Assault was nothing!). Our tour guide, Thomas, was so much fun and a wealth of information. A handsome young Indian about 25, he was patient with us, respectful, clearly well-known and liked in the slum, and our "protector" against the little ones. I'll get to that, but first the trains.

The tour starts at the train station, from which you walk down the street a bit and then climb a pedestrian bridge over the double tracks. The trains are so full people are hanging out the sides, literally, and simply on their way to work like any bustling city. Thomas said about 17 deaths occur each day on the trains (from falling), and often when he visits Dharavi he sees body parts on the tracks. Again, thank goodness we didn't see that, and Thomas said the government is taking some action to increase safety but I confess I can't remember the specifics. Closing doors on the trains seems like a good start though.

The slum is divided into a Muslim and Hindu section, and both are living peacefully together, harmony and cooperative spirit being more important that religious difference. Each have numerous temples, and amazingly, there is even one temple with an altar that has Hindu gods on one section, Allah on another, and Jesus and Mary on yet another. We saw both sections, and I asked about the fact that the Hindu section seemed a bit better off. It is more established, Thomas explained, in that it is not as transient as the Muslim section in which people will come in to work seasonally and leave during Monsoon.

Interestingly, the slum was not near as generally stinky as what we've experienced so far right outside our hotel. Truly nothing can prepare you for the smells of Mumbai, and neither France or I can take a full day of it. Eventually we have to hole up in the hotel room again and today, after being back for about 1/2 hour, we were both sniffing the air, convinced our shoes were off gassing that distinct "outside" smell. Try to imagine a blend of diaper pail, air pollution, and rotting garbage. Now add a bizarre sweetness and you've pretty much got it.

When I think slum I think extreme poverty, filth, hopelessness...we saw a lot of all of that, except for hopelessness, on the surface anyway. In fact everyone was busy working at recycling plastic, working in the tanneries, making pottery in outdoor kilns, walking their children to school, sewing in the factory (men only), looking after the house and kids, washing clothes, visiting over a chai and cigarette, and baking bread in a fair size open bakery a bit below street level. First you see the bread--and the most welcome smell of something appealing--and then when you peek down you see the ovens and racks of baked goods. This bakery supplies all of Mumbai, and it doesn't stop there. In a Smithsonian article from 2007, the author reports that its estimated Dharavi generates an annual revenue of approx. 665 million, of which 3/4 goes back to the slum lords living elsewhere in affluent Asia, Europe, and even the States I think. One slum lord keeps his BMW in the slum covered by a tarp. Thomas said he knows this guy, and he pays 10 people to keep his car safe.

None of these factories are legal, however, and the safety precautions are zilch. Toxic chemicals and no masks, open machinery with no protective body gear, and I saw one man welding with a little make-shift shield he casually held up with his free hand. But that's not the most dangerous: there is an open sewer "river" running through Dharavi, and some brave souls will actually submerge themselves in there to gather plastics and metals to sell for a good return--yeah, no shit! They rope themselves to something or other in case of a sudden flood of water(?), and apparently they go for vaccination shots beforehand to prevent all manner of nastiness. At least that's taking some safety and health precaution. Thomas said that when workers have been coached in safety and provided with gear inevitably they don't use it. It gets in the way and slows them down--they simply didn't learn to do their trade with it on--and slowing down means less money. The garment factory is open 24 hours, and the men can come and sit at their machines anytime they like for as long as they like. Time is money. But despite this industriousness having a Dharavi address is a death sentence, and Thomas has lent his address to six trusted people so they can secure employment outside the slum. If he's asked by potential employers if these people really live at this address he simply says yes, they are paying guests. What else can I do, he explains, when they are begging me, practically clinging on my leg asking for my help? I have to help them and my address helps a lot.

Dharavi really is its own city, and it's very clear that you're in the shopping area, industrial area, or residential areas. We walked down some residential alleys that were so narrow my shoulders we nearly touching each wall, and there's no sun; it's very dark. Families live in tiny one room homes with no windows and a curtain for a door. Thomas shared that one scientist came in to do testing of the living conditions and discovered that the majority of people were living on less than 100% oxygen in these crowded, dark conditions. Fans were thus installed in many homes to help get air circulating. Can you imagine also being covered in a full burka? We saw a lot of those, too, and coupled with the sweltering heat and lack of air flow we simply couldn't understand how these women are able to function.

And finally, the children. We got our first taste on our cab ride to the tour, actually. A young boy of about 8 draped himself across France's window while stopped in traffic. They make a little gesture with their hands, where they motion toward their mouth and then their stomach, to indicate hungry. They do it over and over, pleading, with their big eyes, and this being our first experience we were both nearly in tears. France was stronger and able to avoid eye contact, but I just couldn't. He gave up on France and came to my side, and thankfully the cab finally started moving because I was about to lose it. France said, "he's the same age as my youngest." Ignoring a child feels wrong on every level, and next time when there's just one child like that I'm going to just give them some rupees. On the street it's much harder though, and unless you plan on giving to everyone it's impossible and wrong, just like I was warned. At the train station 3 little girls cuddled up to us all smiles and Thomas shoo-ed them away. Walking across the platform 4 little boys joined us and desperately wanted France's water bottle. Again Thomas shoo-ed them and tapped one of them on the head with his newspaper. Needless to say we were mortified and jokingly chastised Thomas to never do that again or we'd use his paper on him. He laughed--he understands our feelings--but said "you know, I've lived here my whole life and I'm so sick of begging. There is so much corruption and I understand how it works. The women with babies? They will refuse your rupees and ask you instead for milk, for their hungry baby. They will take you to a store to buy the milk, but she and the store owner are working together. When you leave she sells the milk back to the store and makes a profit on the ridiculous price you were asked to pay for it." He recommended we read the book White Tiger to understand all these schemes, and why India is the top of the list for the most corrupt country in Asia, followed by Pakistan and China. True? His opinion only? I honestly don't know. The most upsetting though was in the cab ride back to the hotel, where a little girl not much older than Ava and Elise came right up to the cab in insane traffic making the little hand gesture. She first spotted us from the side of the road and I was so hoping she wouldn't come into traffic. Of course she did, though, and we both gasped in horror, so scared she would get hit. The crazy thing is even at that age she knows what she's doing, and I'm pretty sure I saw her scoot back to the curb just as quickly as she targeted us across two lanes of vehicles. The next time we see such young children on the roadside I'm going to scooch down a bit and try to hide my white face.

The kids inside the slum were so adorable. As you'd walk by they'd say hi! hi! hello! and sometimes, hello money! And many very professionally greeted us with a warm handshake. We felt welcome, by the adults, too, and one young girl came over to show us who I assumed were her little sisters, an infant and another about 2. Thomas didn't discourage this whatsoever, but when a small group of boys were telling me their names, etc., I did notice he was keeping an eye on them, perhaps for pickpocketing. I absolutely did not feel unsafe though, it was just normal life scenes against a bizarre background, but perception is not necessarily reality. France did have her backpack sliced open at the back unfortunately and lost her balls--toy balls she brought for the kids. I brought a stack of stickers which we all left with Thomas at the end of the tour to distribute at the school and to the families he knows. I found these beaver stickers and I said to Thomas, do you know what this animal is? He replied, "um, a mouse?" I explained what beavers were (they eat trees?!) and after spelling it out loud for him I had to repeat it again as he typed it into his phone. B-e-a-v-e-r. "Look it up on the net," I say as we jump into the cab, so easily able to leave behind this surreal world. Like Thomas said, you stay here only for a few hours. This is their entire life.